


Always yours, Molly Hooper xxx

by cak



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Molly-heavy fic, letter-writing, pining (I guess)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 04:36:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cak/pseuds/cak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly decides she has had enough and needs to get how she feels about Sherlock out of her system. Of course, she can't say it to his face (nor does she want to) so she goes about it a different way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always yours, Molly Hooper xxx

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I needed to write something to try and get back in to it and this sort of appeared. As always, I have no beta, so any mistakes are mine. Feel free to let me know if I've missed something or made a mistake!
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> C xx

Molly didn’t know how she’d fallen in to it. A stranger, sweeping in to the morgue, all coat and cheekbones.  
Him staying, talking, working. Her watching, listening, nodding.  
He’d introduced himself after she’d prompted him and after that, it sort of stuck. He sort of stuck. Two weeks later, she found herself being kidnapped by another stranger, only this one was all umbrella and suits. She’d been dropped back at St Barts feeling a little confused and off balance. 

 

But, these days, not much confused her. It’d been three years since he’d walked in, demanding to see a body, claiming something about mice. Three years, which, to Molly, seemed like thirty. 

 

It had gotten worse in the second year. It moved from a strange crush to a sort of infatuation. An infatuation that she didn’t really want to get out of. The third year, it turned in to something else entirely and she wasn’t sure what the actual name for it was, only that it hurt, but was wonderful in equal measure. 

~~~~~~~~~~

So, she found herself one lunch break, sat down at her desk, in the back of her office, tucked away in the corner of the morgue staring at a blank piece of paper. She had so much to say. So much that needed to come out, but she could never bring herself to say it to his face, but it was eating her up, so she had to write it. She had to get it out. She picked up her favourite pen – one with little cat faces on it – and she started to write. 

 

Dear Sherlock,

I’m under no illusion that you will read this. In fact, I don’t want to send it. I just needed to say it and saying it to your face is dangerous.  
I know I’m nothing special and I’ve never claimed to be. I just know that I should be enough. I should be enough to make you smile and I should be enough to keep you here. I know it’s just because I’m useful. I let you do things to bodies that no one else would. I let you take things and run tests and I shouldn’t, I know I shouldn’t, but it makes you happy, so I do it. I do it because I want to see that stupid smile of yours. I want to see you quirk you mouth up for me. Because of me. Even if it is only something that you needed me for. 

 

When I was 7, there was this boy. He was the coolest boy ever and everyone loved him. He used to be king of the playground. I had the biggest crush on him. I remember, one day, I got the courage to ask him out. He laughed in my face and told the whole school. That’s sort of how I feel about you – not that I think you’d laugh! I was just… Anyway… He made me feel tiny and you’ve done that to me too. In fact, you’re always doing it. I don’t think you mean to. John once said to me that considering you do a lot of thinking, you don’t really think before you speak. And I’m okay with that. Mostly. It hurts, but I know you don’t mean it, so it hurts a little less.

 

Anyway, the point of this was so that this stuff wasn’t stuck in my head and so that I don’t keep crying about it, because it’s silly. I’m a grown woman. I’m a grown woman who shouldn’t drink half a bottle of wine each evening to stop herself from thinking because it doesn’t help. It makes me cry and it makes Toby run away. I don’t want to cry any more, Sherlock. I want to be the strong woman I know I can be. I have to learn to ignore my feelings and I have to learn to say no to you. The thing is, I’m scared that if I say no, you’ll never come back and I’ll be even worse off. But, that’s just me, isn’t it? It never goes my way. 

 

I just thought that I needed to tell you the truth, even if you’re not going to read this. The truth is that you confuse me in the most fantastic ways and you astound me every time you come in here. The truth is that I don’t know how I feel about you, but I think that’s okay. It is okay to not know how I feel, because I know that these feelings are mine and you can chip away at me all you want, but you’ll never get to them. Some people might call it love. Other people would call it adoration, I guess. I suppose, though, when I think about it, that it doesn’t really matter what it’s called. I only need to name it when I’m talking about it, and I don’t talk to anyone about it, so I don’t need a name.  
Sorry, I rambled a bit there. I just have so much, bubbling over that I needed to say. I just wish I had the courage to tell you this to your face, but at the same time I don’t. I think, what I actually wish for is that I wasn’t such a coward at all. My Dad use to say that there’s not much worse than being a yellow belly and that’s exactly what I’ve become… But, he’s dead, so it’s not like he’ll know. Right. Sorry.

 

Yes. So. There you are, Sherlock. It’s all laid out for you, in some sense and I’m sure I’ll feel better at some point… Hopefully… Maybe. (If not, I’ve always got Toby.)  
Always yours, 

Molly Hooper xxx

~~~~~~~~~~

Molly set her pen down, her hand aching and looked at the words on the page, not really reading them, just looking. Just observing that her heart was essentially on a page of mistakes and ink stains from where she had tapped her pen on the page. 

She must have been really lost in her thoughts – more so than usual – because it wasn’t until someone (all coat and cheekbones) was standing in her office, quickly making for her desk that she realised she wasn’t alone anymore.

Said someone snatched the letter up from her desk before she had a chance to grab it and stood away from her desk, his eyes quickly scanning the page. 

“Sh-Sherlock…” She murmured. “Give it back…”

 

“It’s not just that you’re useful, Miss Hooper.” Sherlock said, looking at her, the paper still in his hand. “It’s not that at all.”


End file.
